"The body was dismembered into several pieces and thrown out with the trash." Chief Parker stood with his hands on his hips, looking utterly defeated. This was the sixth body. As the chief of a small-town police department, encountering such a gruesome case was overwhelming, and he could hardly imagine the pressure he was under.
"Do we have an ID yet? If she's local, this might be the woman who broke the killer's heart," Jack shook Parker's hand and put on gloves, kneeling by the dumpster to examine the body.
Parker gestured to several officers, who formed a human wall to block the curious crowd and the flashing cameras of reporters from the scene. Then, he shook his head. "No, it doesn't seem like that. The victim's name is Cosley Ashwood. She drove in from Santa Barbara last night. We just notified her husband, who's on his way to the station now."
Jack lifted the sheet covering the body, and the stench of blood made him recoil. The condition of the corpse was horrific.
The victim's hands and one foot had been chopped off, and the torso was riddled with deep wounds—stab wounds, slashes, and cuts so deep they exposed yellow fat tissue and white bone.
Though he had seen his share of crime scenes, Jack knew he would never get used to this level of brutality.
He steadied himself, leaned closer to examine the gaping wounds, then carefully inspected the torso. Shaking his head, he turned to Hotch.
"No gunshot wound to the head. Most of the blood has drained, and the muscle contractions around the wounds show she was dismembered while still alive—it took time."
Hotch grimaced and turned away. "This shows a completely different level of rage. The killer's behavior is escalating in an unusual way. Something must have triggered a significant emotional upheaval in a short time.
"But if this woman is just another random victim, she likely represents someone else—the woman who truly devastated the killer. At this rate, he'll soon be going after her."
Jack covered the body again, stood up, and removed his gloves. After sealing them in a bag, he steadied himself and turned back to Parker.
"You said Cosley Ashwood drove here. Have you found her car?"
Parker shook his head. "We've mobilized all available officers to search the area, but no sign of her car yet."
"Have you checked the scrapyards?" Jack suggested, recalling a classic scene from his favorite crime shows growing up—where the hero narrowly escapes a crushing death in a car wrecking machine.
"Considering that two previous victims' rental cars are still missing, a scrapyard might be the best place to destroy evidence. This case is fresh; checking now might yield some results."
Parker blinked in realization, then quickly pulled out his phone to make some calls.
Jack and Hotch excused themselves and headed back to the station. Just as they arrived, they saw JJ speaking with a middle-aged man outside.
"This is Cosley's husband, Mr. Ashwood," JJ introduced the two men. "We just finished speaking, and I was about to escort him out."
"Please catch the killer as soon as possible," the man mumbled, shaking their hands before hurrying away.
Jack's gaze followed him for a moment before he turned to JJ. "Did you get anything useful?"
"Yes, he admitted they were going through a rough patch. Cosley had a one-night stand not long ago."
Hotch shook his head, ready to head inside when his phone rang.
After taking the call, he looked at Jack with astonishment. "You were right. Cosley's car was found at a scrapyard near Torrance. And someone was inside the vehicle when it was crushed by the machine."
"Fuck!" Jack couldn't help but curse.
It seemed life was imitating art—just like in the movies, the killer had used a car crusher to get rid of the evidence. Had Jack jinxed it? He hadn't even said it out loud.
Following Hotch, Jack hurried to the scrapyard, arriving within an hour to find Chief Parker waiting with a worried expression.
"The killer fled the scene in a hurry. When my officers arrived, the place was deserted, but the crusher was still running. They stopped the machine and noticed the blood leaking out from underneath."
"Was the victim inside the car?" Hotch asked as they approached the crusher.
Parker shook his head. "No, the body was beneath the car. It looks like they fell from the control platform into the crusher. Then, the killer operated the machinery, dropping the car on top of them before activating the crusher."
He paused before adding, "The victim has been identified as Doug Summers, the scrapyard owner."
Jack peeked cautiously into the crusher, which had been turned off but still looked gruesome. The body had been mangled into the metal debris, with bones, flesh, and internal organs mixed with the car wreckage. The forensic team was trying to retrieve the remains from the metal block. Jack had no idea how they had managed to identify the body, but maybe they had found some ID in the mess.
"This seems like a crime of passion, but there's also a personal grudge involved," Hotch nodded in agreement with Jack's earlier assessment and immediately called Garcia.
"Garcia, I need information on Doug Summers, the owner of a scrapyard in Torrance."
"Give me a second," Garcia responded in her usual composed tone with Hotch. It was only with Jack that she tended to be more playful.
It didn't take long before Garcia had the details. "He looks pretty clean, except for one case where he was a witness in a custody battle between Michael Janasco and Andrea White."
"Can you check on Michael Janasco, sweetheart?" Jack chimed in, knowing she would enjoy the teasing tone.
Garcia giggled before digging deeper, gasping at what she found. "You're not going to believe this—Michael Janasco used to work at the scrapyard, and Andrea White is Doug Summers' new fiancée."
"Wait a minute." Jack and Hotch exchanged glances, their eyes lighting up with excitement and disbelief.
"Are you saying Doug Summers stole Michael Janasco's wife?"
"Bingo! Andrea White filed for divorce two months ago and won custody of their 14-year-old son, along with the house."
"It looks like we've found the trigger for the killings. Do you have Janasco's current address?" Hotch asked urgently.
"No, his last registered address was the house he shared with his ex-wife."
Hanging up the phone, Hotch strode toward the car.
"Hey, I'm coming with you," Parker called out, quickening his pace to follow them.
Jack, however, shook his head. "No, you need to head back to the station and issue an APB on Janasco. Don't forget he has a son. If you were in his shoes, evading the police, would you go after your ex-wife, or would you try to take your son and run? It's school time, you know what I mean?"
Parker froze. They already had seven victims, and if Janasco went to the school for his son and something went wrong, the South Bay could be facing a tragedy on a national scale. Even though shootings with fewer than ten victims barely made headlines nowadays, Janasco had already racked up seven bodies—who knew what might happen next?
As Parker rushed back to the station, Jack and Hotch wasted no time. Though Jack had told Parker that Janasco's ex-wife might not be in immediate danger, he wasn't taking any chances. They turned on the siren, speeding through the streets with flashing lights, making it to their destination in just 20 minutes.
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